


Full of Grace

by wordslinger



Series: Three Prayers [2]
Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-04-18 10:43:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14211426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordslinger/pseuds/wordslinger
Summary: He can't move forward until he takes a lifetime of steps backward. As Jellal and Erza prepare to leave Fiore to find the broken pieces of Jellal's murdered family in the kingdom of Stella, they find that old memories are sometimes obscured by time and faded in unexpected places. Andsometimesincomplete.Sequel toIn the Valley of the Shadow of Death.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Same old song and dance. I'm here and may the Lord forgive me for I know not what I do.

“He lives in a tree?” the princess asked incredulously.

“I don’t think it’s a typical tree,” Jellal muttered, poking around in the clutter that looked to be the remains of a garden. The entire forest felt off to him. Needles of trees that stayed green all year long – even in the deep winter – pointed toward the clouded sky. They towered over the mountainside higher than even the furthest reaches of Foss. While the flora remained lively and diverse, Jellal hadn’t seen one hint of fauna. Not even a hoof or paw print in the snow for miles.

“I don’t think there’s anything _typical_ about this area at all,” Erza whispered under her breath.

“I’m glad you’ve noticed.” He regretted the words the instant he said them and felt her glare. Instead of a retort she grabbed his hand and pushed an apple into it.

“You aren’t yourself when you’re hungry, Jellal.” Erza moved past him and further up the nearly overgrown path that led to the tree’s body. Her fur-lined hood slid from her head and revealed the neatly braided and coiled scarlet hair that had driven him to the edge of madness more than once. He loved all of her, of course, but her hair seemed to _glow_ against the wooded backdrop – or maybe it just struck him as more vibrant when she was irritated.

Jellal’s eyes fell to the apple. It was green but also _not._ His stomach rumbled.

“I wouldn’t eat that one if I were you,” a voice from above said amusedly. Jellal glanced up and spotted a cloaked figure perched in the branches. “If the fairy tales are true, apples found on quests can be somewhat problematic.”

Erza’s form rippled and Jellal tossed aside the apple to grab her arm. In the last two weeks he’d learned that the princess was quick to draw her swords when she felt threatened.

“And you are?” he called back. The man’s face was covered but Jellal could _feel_ the grin beneath his mask.

“It might be more fair for me to ask _you_ that question.” The masked man gracefully leapt from the tree onto the snow dusted ground below. “But I already know the answer. I think a better question would be _why.”_

“Why what?” Erza demanded, still pulsing with magic.

“Why do I have a royal tail? It’s rather odd, yes? I do _try_ to mind my own business but it seems as though I’ve drawn the attentions of both the Princess of Fiore and her throneless companion.”

“It’s me who sought you out,” Jellal said, still grasping Erza’s arm. He glanced at the roll of staves peaking over the man’s shoulder. “I’ve heard you’re somewhat of an expert in magical artifacts.”

“If an expert in such things exists, I suppose one could call me that.”

“Could we perhaps discuss it somewhere less exposed?”

The man clapped his chest in feigned offense. “You don’t trust my barriers?”

“We approached your tree here with no resistance whatsoever,” Jellal said flatly.

“How do you know that wasn’t my intention all along?”

“Was it?”

“Maybe I was curious what the lost Prince of Stella was doing in my forest.”

Jellal pursed his lips and waited. The man finally laughed softly and stepped over the chicken wire that surrounded his shabby garden.

“Follow me,” he said with a swooping bow. “It’s a little too cold for my liking anyway.” The man turned to lead them inside and Jellal studied the staves as best he could. There were ten, at least, and each was unique. Erza pried his hand from her arm and pressed herself against his side. Jellal didn’t react when he felt her lips brush his ear.

“I don’t like him,” she hissed.

“Just stay close and keep your eyes open.” He could _feel_ her aggravation but he couldn’t walk away. Not until he was satisfied.

Inside the tree was a room he thought larger than the actual trunk but didn’t question it. Circular walls and floors were all covered in planked wood. The man crouched near a fireplace and brought a flame forth from a lacrima ball. He shrugged off his cloak. The edges, torn and wet with snow, left trails of moisture on the floor. Jellal thought the entire room much too feminine and old for the man with the staves. His hat and mask joined the cloak on a rack and when he turned around, Erza bristled and a familiar blade appeared in her hand.

“What kind of illusion magic is this?” she growled in a low, dangerous voice.

“I assure you it’s not a trick of the eye, Your Highness. I do not possess such magic.” He gestured to his roll staves. “What you see here in my pack and the items in this tree are all the magic I’m capable of commanding. Illusions are quite beyond my skill.”

“But –” Erza’s words sputtered until she pressed her lips together in frustration.

“You might want to get into an explanation before the princess runs you through,” Jellal said softly. “I can’t guarantee she won’t anyway nor will I stop her.”

The man seemingly identical to Jellal eyed the princess thoughtfully. “In truth, Your Highness, I don’t think you _could_ stop her.” He grinned. “To cut a very long story short, I am you. Or rather, I am you in another place.”

“That’s not an explanation,” Jellal said evenly.

“The universe is a mess of strings.” The man waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t pretend to understand it all nor is that my concern. I crossed from my home into yours when I was a small child. The anima is fickle. It opens and closes at its leisure.”

“I’ve heard of these string theories,” Jellal mused. “I never considered them much, though.”

“There’s a handful of us in your world and probably countless others from strings unknown.”

“How big a handful?”

“Bigger than anyone wants to know,” the man said with a grin. He leaned against the hearth and stared into the fire. “So tell me why you’ve sought me out. I like to think I exist in a certain measure of ambiguity.”

“I heard you commanded magic that is not your own. Magic that flows in reverse. From an object to you. I’m interested.”

“Such things aren’t uncommon. Your pack is full of spelled items, yes?”

Jellal sighed. The man was evasive. “I’m not talking about spelled paper or potions.”

“What of the magic on your face?”

“And what of the magic on _yours?”_ Erza cut in. The man laughed softly. _Fondly._

“I wasn’t born with it, that much I don’t mind admitting.”

“Come on, Jellal,” Erza said haughtily. “This man is a fool. He only wants to play word games. He can’t or won’t help you.” She pulled on Jellal’s arm and he had half a mind to let her tug him all the way back to Foss. If they hurried they might make it to the mountain pass before the clouds on the horizon covered the routes in heavy snow.

“I never said I wouldn’t help.” He sighed. “Forgive me, I don’t have many visitors and I’m cautious.” The man stood in front of the fire and folded his hands behind his back. “You can call me Mystogan in this realm but where I come from, I am also a Prince Jellal.”

“Is there a Stella where you come from?” Jellal asked.

“No but my world is very different than Earthland. My father is… not a very good king. I was banished and hidden away when I was very young. Not unlike yourself, Your Highness, my life was in danger. I, however, have no impulse to seek out my homeland.” Mystogan’s eyes fell to the planked floor. “This mark on my face was a gift from the woman who used to reside in this tree. She took me with her to the royal city and procured a witch’s services to keep me safe from any wandering eyes. Apparently,” he tacked on with a grin. “I have a famous face here, as well.”

“Madame Belladonna?”

“Perhaps. I’m not so good at remembering the names of everyone I meet.” Jellal understood Mystogan’s hesitance. Madame Belladonna wouldn’t like her name to be whispered in vain.

“Who was this woman?” Jellal asked, his mind itching. He felt like he knew the answer before Mystogan even opened his mouth to say –

“I believe you know her? She has an absolutely horrific reputation.” He laughed. “And quite an ugly cloak.”

“Porlyusica was always a strange woman.”

“Strange but kind. She has a soft spot for lost things.”

“That she does. When I saw her last she said she was returning home.”

“Did she now?” Mystogan’s expression twisted into something that might’ve been disappointment. “I’m offended she didn’t stop to say goodbye. I doubt the anima would have the nerve to deny her passage.”

“Please,” Jellal whispered, suddenly tired of nostalgia and desperate for help. “Teach me what I need to know. Without my magic I feel empty and without purpose. I want to go home. I _need_ to see what’s become of my country.”

“Stella is a place brimming with the magic of the gods. Magic that has been given by the stars themselves, they say. I’m not sure you could ever replace what’s been lost.”

“It wasn’t lost,” Jellal blurted. “I gave it willingly.”

“Hm.” Mystogan’s gaze was piercing. “I might be able to help you learn to wield magical items but it’ll take some time.”

“How much time?” Erza demanded. “We have a mountain pass to worry about.”

“Magical theory and application is a lifelong study –”

“Come on, Jellal,” she snapped. “We’ll find someone else.”

Mystogan sighed. “I only meant that I can teach him whatever he has the time to learn. I understand your haste but the magic doesn’t care if you have five minutes or fifty years. You drive a hard bargain, Your Highness.”

“I’m protecting him from himself,” Erza said, her feathers ruffling. Jellal might’ve flushed… if he didn’t know her to be speaking the truth. “Jellal has an understanding of magic that I never will. He’s brilliant.”

“Erza –”

“Don’t interrupt,” she cut him off. “You _are._ ” Erza turned back to Mystogan, still gripping the hilt of her sword. “But he’s also tangential and prone to whims and self depreciation. I won’t allow you to drag him under your wheels for your own amusement. I’ve seen enough of his suffering for two lifetimes.”

Mystogan’s grin widened. “You’ve earned the protection of a fierce princess, Your Highness.”

“Don’t call me that,” Jellal muttered. “I’m not a prince.”

“That much remains to be seen,” Mystogan said, his shoulders loosening. “I’ll teach you the basics of what I do.” He bowed to Erza in a show of dramatic capitulation. “I won’t lead him down a stray path, you have my word.”

“I still don’t like you,” Erza whispered even as her sword fizzled back into her pocket realm. “But he needs this to move forward.”

“When do we start?” Jellal asked, grateful for the ease of tension in the room, however slight.

“At sunrise.”

“But that’s –”

Mystogan crossed the room and pulled back the curtains covering a window. Beyond was the sort of blinding darkness only found in the forest after midnight. Jellal felt a chill creep up his spine.

“We have a room in Foss,” Erza stated, wrapping her hand around Jellal’s arm again.

“No need. I’ve appropriate accommodations here.”

“In this tree?” Erza deadpanned.

“I think you’ll find, Your Highness, this tree is but a vessel that isn’t at all what it appears to be. Some things are much larger on the inside.” He laughed softly. “A strange man with a strange tool once said that to me and I’ve always wanted to say it to someone else.”

Mystogan opened a wood paneled door and revealed a narrow hallway with a staircase that appeared to circle around the trunk of the tree. To the naked eye it looked as though the staircase existed, impossibly, between the outer trunk of the tree and the room they were standing in. He disappeared into the hallway and called back for them to follow.

Erza’s hand slid down Jellal’s arm and she threaded her fingers through his.

“I really, _really_ don’t like him,” she whispered. Jellal pressed a kiss to the apple of her cheek and pulled her behind him and into the staircase closet.


	2. Chapter 2

The humid air hung between them like a fog. Jellal breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. The atmosphere of the sulfur springs deep in the caves near Mystogan’s tree was so thick he had to focus almost all his energy on the effort to breathe. He knew this was part of the exercise but couldn’t get rid of _all_ his annoyance.

“Let it go,” Mystogan murmured. Jellal cracked one eye and saw his companion sitting utterly, and _identically,_ still across from him. “You can’t command the magic if you don’t understand the process.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Because you’re distracted.” Mystogan sucked in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “This isn’t innate magic, Jellal. It doesn’t behave the way you are accustomed to magic behaving.”

“Why?”

“This is _outside_ magic. It is attached to an object with no origin. It has no master. If you want to command it, you must learn the paths within yourself to channel it.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Your family’s magic was instilled in you before your birth. It was formed along with you in your mother’s womb. The magic in my staves I channel through me and, because I understand the object the magic resides in and its purpose, I can command it.”

“Like a celestial mage’s contract with a spirit?”

“No. This is less sentient. More dangerous.” Jellal huffed in frustration. Mystogan breathed in again and took his sweet time emptying his lungs. “Magic spelled into objects exists in a circle. Imagine an ouroboros. Unless disturbed, the serpent will continue to flow only in one direction and forever clamp its teeth into the flesh of its own tail. It cannot help this compulsion and lacks the cognescience to disengage. Once disturbed, the serpent needs direction. If there’s no _path,_ the magic will run wild and destroy both itself, and the mage attempting to wield it.”

Jellal tried to reach inside of himself but all he could find was his empty origin – a vacuous hole that radiated despair.

“Outside magic will not fill your origin, Jellal. It will flow through your body but it can never touch that empty place inside you.”

“I don’t think I can do this,” Jellal whispered.

“You can if you have the desire to learn and patience to apply.”

“Magic always came so easy to me. Even magic that wasn’t mine. I learned to master things that had nothing to do with the stars.”

“For some, that understanding comes easy. This is another animal entirely. You will need to leave what you know behind.”

“I don’t know how.” The silence in the cave stretched between them and Jellal found he had to work even harder to breathe. He couldn’t tell if this was because the air grew thicker or because his throat was tighter.

_“Focus.”_

“I can’t focus when it’s so hard to breathe.”

“Then focus on that. Imagine the air filling your lungs and then flowing back out. Outside magic is the same. You will need to channel it. Unlike innate magic, it has no learned behavior. You must cut the path yourself and be prepared to withstand the force of it flowing through your body.”

Jellal tore his conscience away from his empty origin and focused on his lungs. He imagined the air as thick smoke that he both pulled in and pushed out.

“This is good,” Mystogan said finally. “Control is very important. Otherwise the magic will consume you.”

When Jellal opened his eyes again, the air was cooler. Thinner. Mystogan had already covered himself in his cloak again and stood near the mouth of the tunnel that would take them back out into the forest. Jellal’s stomach rumbled irritably. Beyond the cave was the night. He hadn’t realized but they’d been shut away for the bulk of the day.

* * *

 

Erza’s hair slid through his fingers like strands of silk. The bed they shared somewhere in the body of the tree-like vessel – Jellal was convinced the tree wasn’t actually a tree at all but a magical entity entirely unto itself – was better than the rectory accommodations he’d all but forgotten now but not as nice as the room he kept in Crime Sorciere. Sharing a space with the princess, though, was something he enjoyed more than he was conditioned to think he should.

“Is he a difficult man?” she asked quietly, drawing circles on his chest with the tips of her fingers.

“Tedious, more like.” Jellal turned his head toward her. “I am unused to what he calls _outside magic.”_

“Your magical strength has always come from inside you, Jellal,” Erza mused. “It’s a different experience to command a power that is not your own.” Jellal raised an eyebrow when she propped her chin on one closed fist and laughed softly. “Having to work so hard for something that’s always come easy is new for you. This is a new vulnerability.”

“What do you know of outside magic?”

“A few of my swords and armors are spelled. Some of their abilities require effort on my part. It’s symbiotic in certain cases.”

“I never realized.”

Erza smiled and reached up to run her own fingers through his hair. “When they exist in my requip space, they close in on themselves and don’t become active until I have the item in my hand again.”

“Mystogan compared it to disturbing an ouroboros.”

“Mm,” she murmured. “I think that’s an accurate comparison.”

“Erza,” he breathed. “I don’t know if I can do this. I feel so detached from my origin and these items speak a language I do not.”

“You can learn, Jellal,” Erza whispered. “You would learn it easier if it weren’t a necessity for you.”

“What do you mean?”

She laughed and pressed a kiss to the edge of his jaw. “I mean if your back were not against a wall, you would have the skill already. Your hunger for understanding magic is ravenous. There are not so many in this world with an affinity for the knowledge. I think you, your friend Ultear, and my mother are the same.” Erza rose above him and slid one leg over his hips. “But now that you have no options, no _choices,_ other than to learn it, you struggle. Let go of the _I must_ and focus on the _I want.”_

Jellal’s mind emptied when she grasped his erection and took him inside of her. Her words didn’t return to him until he was spent and Erza slept beside him. The shape and meaning of them lingered and kept him awake long into the wee hours of the morning.

* * *

 

The first time Jellal’s hand closed around a powerfully spelled object, he thought his skin would melt right off the bone. He yanked his hand back and scowled at Mystogan.

“I warned you,” Mystogan said with a laugh.

“It burned me.”

“Because it had nowhere to go. You cannot control this magic. Only channel it.”

“This is dangerous,” Jellal huffed indignantly.

“And commanding the heavens was not?”

“That’s different.”

“You’re right. It _is_ different.” Mystogan closed his own hand around the artifact and it began to glow green. Shapes of animals projected on the wall and told a story for children. “And the difference is that you don’t know how to control this magic yet.”

“It’s a children’s toy?” Jellal had half a mind to snatch the object back from Mystogan and bend it to his will.

“We all start at the bottom, Your Highness,” Mystogan quipped, ignoring the way Jellal’s mouth flattened. He poked around on the shelves that had been carved into the walls of the tree. “Hm. Let’s try this one.”

Jellal took the smaller orb from Mystogan and stared down at it in the palm of his hand. “It’s not doing anything.”

“This particular object is a little different than the toy. The magic is less visual. Less volatile.” Mystogan pulled out the chair across from him at the small table and pierced Jellal with a stare. “You need to draw the magic out.”

“You said outside magic had no origin.”

“It doesn’t. But this orb is quite old and the magic is tired. You’ll need to draw it out and let it flow into you.”

“Is every spell different?”

“Yes.”

“Complicated and messy,” Jellal muttered, glaring at the orb.

“It is both of those things, yes, but not impossible.” Mystogan leaned back in his creaking chair. “Reach into the orb the way you might reach into your own origin. Draw the magic out.”

Jellal closed his eyes and his hand around the orb. He imagined Ultear in the hallway on the top floor of Crime Sorciere. She’d pressed her palm against his chest and tried to pluck at any trace of magic left inside of him. Jellal tried to remake that feeling of invasion as something corporeal – something he could _see_ and _touch._ The orb began to warm and Jellal’s mind drifted further back. He remembered all the times Meteor gathered in his knees before he’d leap, and the way Sema collected in the tips of his fingers.

Every part of his body vibrated and steadily grew hotter. It felt like the blood in his veins had been replaced with something molten but also feather light.

The sound of Erza’s gasp broke his concentration and Jellal’s eyes flew open. For a brief second he recognized Mystogan below him and found he was _hovering_ near the ceiling of the room. Before he could regain any semblance of focus, he tumbled down to the floor.

“What the –”

“Do you understand what I’m telling you now?” Mystogan asked, now standing above him and offering a hand.

“Yeah,” Jellal muttered, pulling himself back to his feet. “Yeah, I do. It’s not a command,” he whispered, gazing down at the now cold orb. “It’s a _flow.”_

Erza’s hands closed around his arm. “I hate to interrupt but it’s important.”

Mystogan pursed his lips and Jellal felt uneasy. “What is it?”

“Foss is preparing for a blizzard. They say it’s the first of the season and coming from the east. The reports say in two days time everything will be covered in a deep snow.” Erza’s eyes were sharply fixated on Jellal’s. He already knew what she was trying to say. “If we don’t head for the mountain pass now –”

“We’ll be stuck in Fiore until spring,” Jellal finished. He could feel Mystogan’s disapproval.

“If you abandon these lessons now, you endanger yourself,” he said plainly. Mystogan grabbed Jellal’s other hand and poked at the singed skin along the side of his thumb. “You burned yourself not even an hour ago.”

“I can’t stay. I _need –”_

Mystogan’s eyes cut to Erza. “Watch him,” he said firmly. “He is easily frustrated and restless.”

“I know these things,” she said, leaning her head into Jellal’s shoulder. “I am well used to the way he operates. I’ll take him as a pupil.”

Mystogan nodded once before disappearing into the stairwell that circled the tree muttering to himself. Jellal turned to Erza.

“I’m a horrible student.”

“No worse than me trying to learn a curtsey.” She smiled and squeezed his hand before following Mystogan into the stairwell. “I’ll collect our things. We should leave before sunset if we are to make good time back to Foss and beat the storm.”

Once alone, Jellal stared at the orb in his palm again. He thought he had a decent enough grasp on cutting a path but one look at the still red patch of burned skin on his opposite thumb gave him pause. He hoped the threat of remaining _un_ magical would help push him through the learning curve.

* * *

 

Mystogan did not see them off and Jellal couldn’t find it in himself to care. The man was frustrating and he didn’t care to hear another speech about origins and channels. Instead, Erza handed him a satchel filled with items Mystogan had, apparently, hand-picked. Jellal’s frustration flared.

“So he’ll wish _you_ a good journey but not me?”

“You and he have more in common than I think the both of you care to acknowledge. He has concern for you.”

“I’m sure,” Jellal muttered.

The snow crunched under their boots and was the only sound they could hear. This time, Jellal spotted Mystogan’s barriers easily. The silver pins wedged into the tree bark protected him from wayward travelers or roaming bandits. Just before passing through the barrier, Jellal glanced back over his shoulder and thought he saw the torn edges of Mystogan’s cloak somewhere high up in the thick web of pine needles. The view was obscured once they left the pins behind.The sounds of the forest returned along with the high walls of Foss in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did my best to not have Mystogan sound like Yoda in this chapter but here we are.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will have the same kind of rhythm as In the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Every other chapter or so will have a flashback. Just so you know what to expect.

_The sounds of the banquet hall echoed off the walls and domed ceilings in a loud din. Anytime the palace of Starfall hosted extended members of the royal family, the company was boisterous and remained so well into the night. Jellal had long mastered the skill of singling out conversations and familiar voices. He watched his father from the end of the high table laughing too loudly at something his brother had said. Acnologia didn’t visit Altair often but when he did it was always with fanfare._

_Jellal shrunk into his mother’s side when the woman on Acnologia’s arm winked at him. He knew her only as Cassia. She lived on the palace grounds in one of his uncle’s villas. Her golden hair always drew his eye. Often she wove strands of jewels through it or strings of the tiny white blooms that grew even at the highest altitudes of the plateau. Cassia’s aesthetic intrigued him – much more than she intrigued his uncle, it seemed. She was Acnologia’s favorite of his handful of concubines but even at a very young age Jellal could recognize the way his uncle gazed at his mother when he thought no one was looking._

_In an attempt to ward off sleepiness, his mother would send him to bed at the first signs of fatigue, Jellal’s eyes rose to the deep blue domed ceilings and the gold stars that had been depicted there since even before his grandfather’s birth. The midnight blue pigment had been a gift as well as the complex star map. Jellal could identify any one of the formations on command but he’d always been drawn to the ones fraught with drama. His favorite was Orion. In the whimsical moments before he drifted off to sleep, Jellal liked to imagine that no matter how many pieces Artemis’s heart had broken into when Scorpius killed him, she could forever behold him in the skies. He preferred the version where Orion was murdered by the scorpion versus the one where Artemis herself takes his life out of jealousy._

_The shapes of the constellations began to twist and fade. Jellal could not stop his yawn. His mother laughed softly beside him._

_“Come on, little one,” she said in the voice he loved most. “I think it’s time for you to be in bed.” Jellal’s mother took his hand and led him from the banquet hall. Over his shoulder he caught the hungry gaze of his uncle staring after the queen._

_His bedroom suite was unique in that he could see almost the entire expanse of the heavens from the balcony. Of course, he hadn’t been allowed out onto the balcony until recently. The privilege had come along with his fifth birthday._

_“Did you enjoy dinner, my love?” she asked quietly. The illusion of stars dancing on the walls reflected on her hair and he smiled._

_“I did.”_

_“Good.”_

_“How long is uncle going to stay?”_

_For the first time his mother’s smile wavered and he knew he hadn’t been imagining the uncomfortable way Acnologia eyed her._

_“I don’t know.” She reached over to brush the hair from his forehead. “Perhaps until after the festival. You know how he comes and goes.”_

_“Do you think Cassia will be at the festival this year?” Jellal blurted out. His mother laughed._

_“I think there’s a good chance she will be. Though, that does depend on your uncle’s mood.” Her smile dimmed again. “Jellal, if anything were to ever happen within the walls of the palace, I want you to know that Cassia is safe. Seek her out. She will protect you.”_

_“Something?” he repeated through his exhaustion. “What do you mean?”_

_“Sometimes proximity to the crown is a dangerous place to be, little one. I will always keep you safe and so will your father. But –”_

_“I know how to find her,” Jellal whispered._

_“Good.” His mother leaned down to press a kiss to his cheek. “Sleep well.”_

* * *

 

            Jellal leaned back against the wall, stretched his legs out over the length of the bench, and crossed his feet at the ankles. He watched the lively pub with feigned disinterest. More than once in his life Jellal had learned the very important lesson of keeping your eyes sharp while giving off an unremarkable appearance.

            Arenaria was a small town just this side of the Fiore border at the base of the trail that led upward. According to word of mouth, this particular pub in this particular town was the most promising way to secure a guide through the mountain pass even in the dead of winter. Jellal’s eyes zeroed in on the drunken man laughing boisterously over the shoulder of an equally intoxicated woman. His high tolerance for the booze matched every description they’d heard on the road to Arenaria.

            Jellal’s eyes cut right and he couldn’t help his amused grin. A familiar redhead was locked in an incredibly competitive game of darts. The way her forehead wrinkled and her rigid stance meant she was losing – and not happy about it. The princess hadn’t ever been partial to losing and, apparently, pub darts were no exception. She wasn’t used to small flighty things like darts. Daggers and shuriken were heavier – not that she was an expert in throwing weapons but she was at least proficient.

            As expected, the laughing drunk man suddenly stood and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Despite the noise of the pub, Jellal heard a reference to yellow snow. He waited only half a minute after the man had stumbled out the door to follow. A pair of honey brown eyes met his as he stalked across the worn planked floor. Jellal reached up to adjust the hood of his cloak before stepping out into the snow.

            The hissing sound of hot urine spraying into frozen globs of snow came from just around the corner. Jellal ducked into the shadows and watched the man sloppily shake the last drops from the tip. His mouth twisted into a disgusted sneer and he decided to be petty.

            “They say anything more than two shakes and you’re playing with it.”

            The man jumped and stuffed his member away quickly before turning around. “You scared the shit out of me, mate. What a man does with his own dick is his own business, I say.”

            “What a man does in a public alley is everyone’s business,” Jellal countered.

            “Touché, my friend.” The man laughed sloppily.

            “I need a guide. I’ve heard you’re the one to talk to about that.”

            “You followed me all the way out here while I’m takin’ a piss to bug me about the pass? No can do, friend, snow’s about to bury us all and I’ve got a lady waitin’ on me back inside.”

            Jellal grinned and the man inched one step back. “We leave at sunrise and I can pay quite handsomely.”

            “Listen, mate,” the man said steadying himself. “I’m not one to turn down a _handsome_ sum but in case you ain’t noticed –” he pointed up at the clouds. “Blizzard’s comin’. Foss is already under somethin’ nasty and I quite like bein’ alive and warm.”

            “The way I heard it, you work year ‘round. The blizzard won’t be here for another day or so. We’ve plenty of time.”

            “I’m not lookin’ to get buried up at the way station!” he snapped in frustration. “That’s a hell of a shitty place to spend until the storm moseys along only to have another, bigger one right behind it.” The man’s drunkenness seemed to take a backseat to his annoyance with Jellal.

            “What if I gave you an advance?” Jellal mused, jangling the coins in his pockets. “You can have a few more drinks, pay that pretty grey eyed girl inside, and have a good time before we leave in the morning.”

            The man paused and licked his lips _ponderingly._ “No,” he finally said. “It ain’t worth a month stuck at the way station drinkin’ nothin’ but that old bastard’s corn moonshine.”

            “I’m not sure you can afford much else,” Jellal said with a laugh. “I heard a rumor you haven’t worked in months. Not a lot of traffic through to Stella lately. Something about an explosion down in Crocus.”

            “I don’t know nothin’ about that,” the man groused.

            “I never said you did. There’s a young lady tending bar down in Foss that says you’ve got a fat tab waiting for you there.” Jellal watched the man shift on his feet. “And here, as well, I’d imagine. Come on. Let me pay you for a guide to the pass. I can make my own way from there.”

            “You’re a right fool, you know that?”

            “I’ve been called worse.”

            “I want half up front.”

            “Done.” Jellal held out a wad of jewel bills. The man stuffed them all into his pocket and glared.

            “Sunrise?”

            “Sunrise.”

            “You better not have a bunch of shit in tow.”

            “I travel light.”

            “Good.” He shoved past Jellal with a grunt. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a tab to pay and a girl to bed.”

            “Enjoy,” Jellal said cheerily. When the man disappeared back into the pub, Jellal gazed up at the silvery clouds. They reflected far too much light for his liking. His new guide, however drunken, wasn’t wrong. This storm would be ugly and it was all the more reason to get through the pass ahead of it.

* * *

 

            Arenaria showed it’s classless underbelly when she sun peaked between the mountains. Crocus had her peaks and glittering spires to mask the dankness lurking in The Troughs but Arenaria was all dank in the daylight. Their new guide snapped out of his hangover real quick when he spotted Erza in her fur lined, green cloak.

            “You said you travelled light!”

            “There’s only the two of us here,” Jellal said with a grin. “I told you no untruths.”

            “I ain’t slowin’ down for no women or babies.”

            Erza bristled beside him and Jellal prayed she wouldn’t cause a stir. “I assure you there are no babies and my companion is quite capable.”

            “Hmpf,” the man grunted. “We should get on down the path. If I gotta be stuck at the way station I’d rather not arrive half frozen. You got my money, yeah?”

            “I’d never swindle a gentleman such as yourself.” The man’s face twisted further into a scowl.

            “I ain’t a gentleman.” He turned to grab his rucksack and hefted it onto his shoulders. “I wasn’t kiddin’ about gettin’ gone.” The man pointed at the path that disappeared into the trees behind the pub. “We’ll take that there until we get to the road.”

            “There’s a road?” Erza blurted. “All the way up here?”

            “We ain’t so country that we don’t have roads up here,” he shot back. Remembering himself, he stood straighter than Jellal thought possible under the weight of such a large pack. He stalked past them both and between the buildings where Jellal had caught him pissing in the snow the night before.

            “Do you have a name?” Erza said, catching up to him once they were clear of the buildings. Besides Mystogan and a small handful of citizens in Foss, they hadn’t had much contact with other people. Jellal suspected that she was living the fantasy she’d always had of dipping down into the parts of humanity that her crown hadn’t ever allowed. Even if she’d made a showing in The Troughs as the princess, no one would’ve treated her as anything other than an untouchable royal. Here in the wilderness she was free to interact as she pleased.

            “Just call me Groh,” the man said stiffly, sneaking a glance at her.

            “Is the road very well used, Groh?” she went on. Jellal swallowed an amused chuckle.

            “It’s worn in well enough,” Groh said, his eyes scanning the tree line.

            “Are you a mage?”

            “Erm –” for the first time Groh hesitated. Jellal watched him carefully, curious how he’d answer. “Yeah, I guess. Not much use for my particular set of skills up here in the north, though, it does come in handy when I run into bears.”

            “Bears?”

            “You ever wrestle a bear, red? It’s a hell of a rush.”

            Erza blinked at the nickname but recovered quickly. “Are the markings on your face runes?”

            “No…” He trailed off and Jellal pursed his lips. He’d recognized Groh’s markings immediately.

            “They’re not runes,” Jellal muttered. “They’re tally marks.”

            “Tally marks?” Erza repeated. “But what –”

            “Aw, come on!” Groh groused. “A guy’s gotta be allowed his secrets! It’s what makes me interesting!”

            Jellal snorted. “That’s a stretch. And nobody would think them interesting down south. Marks like those are a dime a dozen down in the harbor.”

            “I don’t understand. What happens down in the harbor besides trade?”

            “Fighting,” Jellal said, picking through a cluster of rocks big and sharp enough to crack a person’s skull open should they fall. “He’s a pit fighter.”

            “Well,” Erza said with a smile directed at Groh. “You’ve got quite a few marks! You must be a great fighter!”

            “Something like that,” Groh said under his breath. “Watch your step up here. It’s easy to twist an ankle.”

            Erza fell silent and glanced over at Jellal who smirked. He’d tell her later that Groh’s marks weren’t actually very impressive at all. The best fighters were _never_ the drunks.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's block is a bitch. I've got half the next chapter finished so... hopefully the wait won't be too awful.

            As the trail narrowed and took up a steep incline, the bite of the wind grew more painful. Jellal could see nothing of Erza save her cloak and, when the flecks of snow weren’t flying into their faces, her eyes. The purchase of appropriate winter gear in Foss had already proved a wise choice. Groh seemed immune to the weather and hadn’t added more layers beyond his boots and wool. When the sun disappeared and the frigid night set in, Jellal questioned his own decision to press for the border in spite of the blizzard.

            Erza’s requip space had become an invaluable tool. She stored not only her weapons, but everything that kept them alive. Food, blankets, shelter. Groh declined the offer to sleep in their tent and chose to build his own shelters. Erza expressed concern but Jellal didn’t care one way or the other. The man had obviously survived long enough without the use of their gear.

            After five days of frigid hiking, Groh declared the journey almost over. They cleared a tree line and the path began to curl around the edges of a sharp drop off. At one point, many years before, there had been a handrail but the only remaining supports were the frozen wood posts poking up through the frozen ground.

            Beyond the posts and the drop off was the valley. The north country of Fiore lay before them blanketed in snow and ice. Tips of evergreen capped in glittering snow appeared innumerous and infinite. The valley dipped low and the individual points were lost in the swoop of the landscape. Flanking them were the jagged peaks of the mountains. The grey rock was almost purple in the sun’s waning glow. Above it all was a wide expanse of sky. Rays of light reflected off the low hanging clouds pregnant with winter. Orange, pinks, and a splash of red truly took Jellal’s breath away. He’d never seen something so wild and beautiful even from his mountain temple. Erza still took in the view with excited awe when Jellal finally tore his eyes away, trying not to wonder if this was the path Cassia had taken when he’d been a boy of six wrapped in her silks and furs.

            Every jut of rock and twist of broken tree root along the path in front of them bothered Jellal. It had been one thing to entertain the princess joining him on his journey home in _theory_ but in _practice_ he feared for her life. Even the smallest of missteps would be tantamount to treason.

            “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, leaning into his side. “I never even _imagined_ –”

            “Yeah, yeah,” Groh interrupted. “You seen one winter, you seen ‘em all. Let’s shake a leg, huh? I wanna be at the way station before midnight.”

            “Is it safe to start on the path so late?” Jellal asked.

            “You questioning my expertise?” Groh snapped.

            “I’m questioning the safety of a mountain path with no handrail after sunset.”

            “Jellal –” Erza cut herself off when he squeezed her hand.

            “Listen,” Groh said, adjusting the straps of his pack. “We been at the head of the blizzard and we been real lucky.” He pointed over Jellal’s shoulder to the edge of sky visible before the mountain range blocked everything. “See that mass of grey? That’s not how I wanna die. We take the path now and pray we make it or we wait for the blizzard and freeze to death. I warned you before we ever left Arenaria that we were on a deadline.”

            Jellal tamped down his frustration. He _had_ been warned. He _was_ aware of the dangers.

            “Let’s get it done,” he said with a clenched jaw.

            “If you got scarves to wrap, hoods to secure, or buttons to… button –” Erza’s soft laugh turned Groh’s ears red. “Just wrap up tight,” he groused. “Wind’s unforgivin’ on the path.”

* * *

 

            Jellal’s eyes were glued to Erza’s boots. The loose gravel skittered between clumps of snow and ice that refused to melt enough to turn to sludge. With every crunch and unstable step his stomach turned over. More than once he’d grasped her elbow to steady her. The path grew thinner with every bend and her cloak flapped violently with every gust of wind.

            “Not too much further! Step carefully now!” Groh’s voice was nearly stolen by one such gust and a flurry of snow. Jellal no longer thought the glints of light beautiful but deadly. Tiny blades floating on a dangerous wind.

            The sun disappeared behind the mountains and the temperature dropped quickly. Jellal felt the blizzard creeping behind them with an acute anxiety. The elevation was higher now, and the chill, brutal.

            Erza followed Groh’s direction and pressed her back against the mountainside. The path narrowed once more as they curved around a jut of sheer rock. High above them a tree extended out over the drop. Jellal’s gloved fingers pressed against the rock and he tried not to see the vast _nothingness_ beyond the edge. His heart pounded painfully and for the first time in hours, _days_ , he felt clammy with sweat.

            A clump of frozen pine needles and snow crashed to block the path he’d just inched over and he twitched. For a brief moment the cold darkness whispered his name and he thought he’d tumble into it. A painfully tight grip on his wrist snapped him from the terrified stupor. Erza’s eyes were hard and he knew she had an expression to match beneath her cloak and scarf.

            “Sorry,” he breathed. A puff of air clouded the space between them. He sucked in a cold breath before moving forward again.

            When the path widened and they were able to return to a forward facing walk, Jellal could not have been more relieved. Erza reached behind her and grasped the sleeve of his cloak. Without even a hint of shame or embarrassment he took her hand.

* * *

 

            The way station was nothing like Foss or even Arenaria. It was something entirely unexpected with its wooden buildings lined with glowing windows. More of a tiny village than anything else, it sat at the base of a final steep stretch of forest before the path twisted between the rocks and up to the pass. Everything was planked in bright pine sometimes painted with red or green. The roofs were blanketed in snow and the air was just as frigid as before but when Erza turned to him with a smile, he felt warm for the first time in days.

            “Well,” Groh said roughly. “I did my part. Now you pay me.”

            “This isn’t a way station,” Jellal deadpanned. “Why did you lead me to believe it was a water pump with no accommodations?”

            “I told you,” he growled. “I didn’t wanna be stuck up here ‘till spring. I wouldn’t have bothered if I’d known you were such a stubborn bastard.” Groh pointed lazily off to his side. “If you’re smart you’ll get on to the pass soon. The blizzard’ll ice everything over before ya know it.”

            Jellal’s scowl didn’t relent even as he handed over the remainder of Groh’s pay.

            “Thank you, Groh,” Erza said, stepping forward. “I appreciate you risking your life to see us safely to the way station.”

            In a show of uncharacteristic bashfulness, Groh shuffled his feet and pulled off his knit hat.

            “It ain’t nothin’,” he muttered. “Just happy to serve the crown.”

            “I’m sorry?” Erza stammered. Jellal closed his hand around her elbow protectively.

            “Beggin’ your pardon, Your Highness, I cut my teeth down in Crocus.” He glanced up and pointed at her covered head. “I’d recognize that hair anywhere. You’re the spittin’ image of the queen.”

            “Oh.” Erza bit her lip in disappointment. Jellal knew she hadn’t wanted to be recognized. After an awkward moment she straightened and Jellal released her arm. “Well, in that case, Sir Groh, I thank you on behalf of the crown. You’ve done us a great service. I won’t forget it.”

            “I don’t want no title,” Groh murmured, pulling his hat back over his head. “Just doin’ what I’m paid for.”

            “A job well done,” Erza said proudly.

            “Yeah, yeah.” He bowed awkwardly and then spun on his heel to leave. Jellal waited until he’d turned around a corner and burrowed deeper into the small village to speak.

            “Unbelievable,” he said under his breath.

            “Would you rather this place be the water pump and assortment of ramshackle lean-to’s you expected?” Erza asked with a smile. She slid her arm through his and laughed lightly. The puff of her warm breath dragged a smile from him, as well.

            “I suppose not. We need to find shelter.” His eyes scanned the village. There were a grand total of maybe ten buildings.

            “There,” Erza whispered in his ear. “Just beyond the red paneled house.” Jellal focused on the building and decided Erza was right. It was two floors high and had more windows than the others. The bottom level had more elongated windows lined with carved shutters.

            Snow still caked the soles of their boots when they clomped through the doors. A burst of warm air that smelled of bread and beer caressed Jellal’s chapped face. Erza sighed quietly and, despite being recognized by Groh, pulled the hood back from her hair. The interior of the first floor was more wood paneling, wooden chairs, and three rows of wooden tables. A bar lined the far wall and Erza trailed behind Jellal as he wove through the tables and benches.

            The barmaid’s smile was bright. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen at the _most._

            “Welcome!” she said eagerly. The bar positively sparkled under the low lights. “We don’t get too many visitors up here in the dead of winter! You must be the travelers that came with Bacchus. He’s always coming and going. Of course, with that blizzard on your tail I don’t think he’ll be heading back down the mountain to Arenaria anytime soon.”

            “Sasha!” A voice from the kitchen beyond the bar called.

            “Sorry,” she said in a more somber tone. “Papa says I’m too easily excited. But I just can’t help it!” The barmaid smiled widely at Erza. “I _love_ your hair! We don’t see crimson like that this far north!”

            _“Sasha!”_ the voice called again.

            “Sorry,” she whispered. “What can I get you? Food? A drink? A room?”

            “All three, if you don’t mind,” Jellal said, feeling the fatigue settle as his bones slowly thawed.

            “Do you think you’ll stay long?” Sasha blurted. She immediately bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder toward the small doorway that led to the kitchen.

            “No, we need to get through the pass before it’s buried in snow.”

            “Papa says the storm’s a bad one.”

            “If the clouds on the horizon are any indicator, I’d agree with him,” Jellal agreed.

            “Well, have a seat. I’ll get you something to eat and make sure a room is ready.” Sasha’s smile went wide again as she whirled around and disappeared into the hallway.

* * *

 

            The room was small but had a wood burning stove and a stack of logs. Sasha – or her father – had done them the favor of starting a fire so the air was warm when Erza closed the door behind them. She immediately shed her damp cloak and boots and lined everything up on the floor and drying racks near the stove.

            Jellal handed off his own boots and cloak before inspecting the perimeter of their quarters for security. Erza’s requip space would prevent them from falling victim to petty theft but traveling with the princess made him wary. Besides keeping her safe, Jellal still hadn’t quite shaken the unease that came along with the knowledge that his uncle had lurked in his shadow for so long despite Madame Belladonna’s best efforts. How had Acnologia determined the difference between himself and Mystogan? And he had _no doubt_ the man had known of Mystogan’s existence. So many questions and not enough answers.

            He startled when Erza’s voice came from directly behind him.

            “What’s wrong?” she whispered. Jellal realized he’d been standing in the doorway of the bathroom staring down at the tile floor since turning away from her several moments before.

            “I’m…” Jellal heaved a heavy sigh and turned to her. She’d taken her hair down from the coil of braids. It fell in waves around her shoulders. The strands were soft between his fingers even though he knew she hadn’t washed it since they’d left Arenaria. “I wonder if I’m making more mistakes.”

            He hadn’t planned on those words exactly but once they were off his tongue he felt lighter.

            “Do you regret your journey home already?” she asked with a smile.

            “Regret?” Jellal focused on her hair until she covered his hand with her own. “No, I don’t think I _regret_. I just wonder if –” he sighed. “I don’t know what I want out of this.”

            Erza took both his hands in hers and gazed up at him with an honesty that touched his soul.

            “You don’t _have_ to know, Jellal. Not yet. We don’t know what exists on the other side of the pass or what’ll happen on the road to Altair. You’re allowed to be unsure.”

            “I’ve been unsure for most of my life, Erza. I don’t want that anymore.”

            “Then that’s it,” she whispered. “That’s what you’re looking for. Something _sure.”_

            Jellal’s shoulders sagged, his eyes slid shut, and he pressed his forehead to hers. She released his hands and he felt her fingertips brush against his cheeks. They were rough from the abuse of wind and snow. He didn’t know how to tell her the _surest_ thing in his life was the way he’d managed to stitch the shape of her into his heart even as he’d been in the midst of running away.

* * *

 

            Erza’s weight on his chest relaxed him. She smelled of the oatmeal soap they’d found in the bathroom. Her hair, though damp again, was clean. The bath they shared had been the _best_ bathing experience since Ultear’s enormous tub in her exploded apartment.

            His eyes slid to the window and then the glow still radiating from the wood burning stove. He felt warm. Secure. _Sure._

* * *

 

            The morning brought a blinding brightness. Sunlight reflected off the nearly opaque white storm clouds. The wind had picked up considerably and snow was already starting to drift.

            Sasha sent them off with still warm loaves of bread and a nervous wave.

            “You’ll want to hurry,” she insisted. “It’s safe through the pass, but you’ll never get there if you don’t leave before the storm hits.”

            “Thank you for your hospitality,” Erza said graciously.

            “Be sure to stop by on your way back!” Sasha blurted and then laughed. “I mean, if that’s your plan. Maybe Stella is your home?”

            “Sasha!” the man in the kitchen bellowed.

            “Sorry,” she said, chagrined. “Have a safe journey.”

            Jellal handed Erza the bread once they’d left the inn behind. The wrapped loaves shimmered from view and would remain safe in her requip space until they needed them. Groh was nowhere to be seen in the morning hustle to prepare the way station village for the storm. As they made their way through the village, Jellal watched the mountain people shutter their windows. No one noticed their passing at all.

            Once beyond the way station, Jellal pulled his hood back over his head and waited for Erza to follow suit. The trees crowded close to one another and the path was less obvious than before. Planks of pine shoddily painted the same bright red as many of the houses behind them had been nailed to the tree trunks sporadically. Before the sun reached its apex, they were deep in the wood. Without warning the forest stopped at the sheer stone side of the mountain. A final red plank pointed toward a narrow opening between the folds of rock. Jellal had never wished more for the magic of the heavens and stars than when he led Erza into the darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm so weird. I can't help it. And I really do have a plan for all this.

_Cassia’s hair was not unlike his mother’s but did have its own unique resplendence. Her braids and twists reminded Jellal of honey instead of spun gold. When she spoke her voice drew him in with a lyrical cadence he’d never heard from anyone else. According to the queen, Cassia was from a place called Fiore, which meant_ of the flowers _in an ancient tongue now used only in religious texts and other Very Old Things. Fiore intrigued him. Did all the women there drape themselves in silks, bangles, and blooms? If so, Fiore must be a good deal warmer than Stella with its plateaus and high elevation steppes – even the grasslands were cool in the summer._

_Jellal watched Cassia’s gold tipped fingernails slide through his cousin’s hair with rapt attention. She twisted Lucy’s strands of Heartfilia blonde into a complex plait._

_“Where did you learn to do that?” Jellal asked dreamily, fingering the edge of Cassia’s dress that draped over the perfectly folded and tucked blankets of Lucy’s bed. Even the embroidery of her clothing resembled flowers. The fine gold threads were soft under the pad of his thumb._

_“To plait?” she questioned in her accented voice. “I learned from my mother who learned from her mother._

_“Does everyone in Fiore plait as beautiful as you?” Lucy asked in a near-whisper. She’d always been more reserved and bashful than Jellal. Especially when visiting Starfall. When at her family home, she didn’t hold back so much of herself._

_“No, little one,” Cassia said with a low laugh. “It’s a rather specific skill. Only those who deal in the pleasure of others have time to spend on such fanciful things.” Jellal watched her face smooth into something thoughtful._

_“Is that why you’re uncle’s favorite?” Jellal blurted. He regretted the words immediately but Cassia smiled over her shoulder at him._

_“Am I truly his favorite?” she asked with a wink. “How does one so young know of such things?”_

_Jellal shrugged and stretched out across Lucy’s bed. “He likes you best and keeps you separate from the others.”_

_“That’s true. I suppose I’m his favorite because I allow him to see what he wishes to see.”_

_“My mother says illusions are dangerous,” Lucy whispered._

_“Lady Heartfilia is a wise woman,” Cassia agreed softly. “There is, perhaps, less danger if the illusion is chosen instead of imposed. Even if only by a small measure.”_

_“What do you wish to see, Cassia?” Jellal asked as he folded the edge of embroidered silk between his fingers again. She took so long to reply he thought maybe she hadn’t heard him. Cassia tied off the end of Lucy’s hair with a ribbon and carefully set the plait over her shoulder. When she turned to Jellal, her smile was sad._

_“Only pretty things, little one. That’s all I ever wish for.”_

* * *

 

            The passageway seemed endless. Jellal had to remind himself more than once to stop running his fingers along the walls. The sensation didn’t make anything more tolerable and the number of times he’d nicked his skin was becoming troublesome. If he craned his neck back the sky could be seen beyond the high walls of the pass but it was only a fissure of light. Blasts of cold air whispered and groaned mournfully.

            He thought maybe two days had passed… or was it three? Time seemed to twist and fold. It didn’t help that the pass itself wasn’t consistent. Some sections were barely wide enough for a cart or even two people standing abreast. Others were cavernous – every breath an echo.

            Jellal felt the rock beneath his fingers again and then Erza’s hand gently closing around his wrist to pull it away.

            “We need to stop,” she said softly. “There’s a shadow ahead. That means a cave or some other place to rest.”

            “But the day has only just started.”

            “Jellal,” Erza whispered. “We’ve been walking for hours.”

            “Are you sure?” He felt discombobulated.

            “I’ve been counting minutes and seconds.” She stepped around him and reached up to touch his cheeks and forehead. “You aren’t alright. You haven’t been since we got here.”

            “Maybe I _am_ feeling a little claustrophobic.” Jellal took her hand from his face and pressed a kiss to her palm. Unlike his own skin, Erza felt appropriately chilled.

            “You’re too warm, Jellal. It’s just as freezing in the pass as was at the way station. It’s alarming how hot and dry your hands are.” She inched her fingers into the neck of his layers of clothing and pursed her lips. “Are you dehydrated?”

            “No,” he murmured. “I don’t know.”

            Erza said nothing more. She took the lead and moved between him and the wall he’d been brushing against on and off all day.

* * *

 

            The shadows crept not from a cave but a grotto. Impossibly eroded arches and curls of rock gave off an impression of dangerous whimsy. Above them the rock ceiling vaulted. It was a more dizzying view than the crack of light along the pass. Rushing water ricocheted off the bare expanses of rock but there was enough moss and other greenery to muffle the din into something tolerable. The air was unnaturally warm and heavy. Humid almost. A pool that disappeared deeper into the mountain rippled with the flow of the falls that emptied into it. There were three falls, each hailing from a very separate corner of the grotto. His mind felt just sharp enough to wonder how such a thing was possible but still dull enough not to care. The falls themselves were clearer than any water he’d ever seen but the pool itself had a swirling, milky tint.

            Jellal’s eyes were drawn to the moss covered rocks. The tiny fronds glittered with moisture. On the far side of the pool a grouping of rocks was covered in a blanket of arenaria blooms. It wasn’t until Erza led him to a smooth surface for sitting that he noticed the thick clusters of twilight violets. They were the same deep purple he recognized from Crocus’s third hill but these had an iridescent center. Something about them seemed _different._ Their fragrance was stronger and felt sentient somehow. Jellal leaned forward and reached for a tuft of purple but Erza’s hand closed around his wrist again.

            “Jellal,” she said firmly.

            “What is it?” he asked, smiling up at her like a fool.

            “Oh, Jellal,” Erza whispered sadly. “You’re not well. I don’t know what to do.”

            The atmosphere in the grotto felt utterly different than the pass that still stood only a few feet away beyond the overhang. Erza shed her cloak and then began to remove his as well. Layer by layer she peeled his clothes from his body. She scowled at the state of his cotton underclothes.

            “Jellal, why aren’t you sweating?” she asked, touching his neck, his arms, and his chest. “Your skin is burning up!”

            Jellal watched her fawn over him with a growing distance. He _wanted_ to help her. He wanted her to know he was _fine._ His head was just a little fuzzy but that wasn’t his fault!

            _It’s the violets,_ he thought. _Of course!_ Everything would be fine if he could just get away from this nest of twilight violets. But they were so beautiful –

            “Erza,” he whispered. She ignored him and continued her panicked inspection of his person. “It’s the violets, Erza.” Jellal’s words melted together and his eyes slid shut. The grotto spun and he thought he could feel something wet kiss his skin. It was cool and thick and sweet.

            _Sweet?_

* * *

 

            _Her hair was of the darkest black and he thought maybe the strands of it pinned back the stars themselves. He reached for her but she was ever far. She smiled at him with crimson lips and bright violet eyes._

            “It’s the violets,” a voice that was not hers said. “He’s lost in the twilight.”

            _The woman’s skin was flawless and held the pearlescent glaze he’d always associated with the urns in the royal gardens of Starfall. She smiled and his heart felt lighter than it had in a very long time._

_“I felt you coming but you were hard to see.”_

_Jellal’s cheek burned where Madame Belladonna’s mark had been woven into his skin. Her arm stretched out and Jellal’s eyes followed the length of it to the tip of her finger. She laughed and he smiled._

_“Look,” she whispered. The woman’s touch was cold. “Not at me, little lost star prince. Look_ there.”

            _Jellal finally obeyed her and found the entire universe at the tip of her finger. The stars were all around him. He could feel them pressing against his skin and it felt like home._

_“Further,” she urged, her cold fingers digging into his shoulders._

_Jellal focused on the stars and then beyond. A blue planet spun round and round._

_“Almost there.” Her voice in his ear brought a chill that reached the marrow of his bones._

_“Starfall,” he breathed. The walls of the palace stood tall and proud. Her gardens sprawled across the plateau of Altair. He knew them well… he_ had. _In another life._

_“Behold my people,” she said proudly. “Their wishes bring me joy when I am lonely and waiting for my love to return.”_

_Jellal’s eyes took in the wishes hanging from the tree branches like colorful leaves. He watched the glowing boats of folded wishes and their votives meandering down the river toward the falls._

_“They’re only wishes,” he murmured with unexpected sadness. His chest felt empty._

_“Do you think I do not hear every wish?” She was behind him now and he shivered. “Do you think I have not heard_ yours?”

            “I don’t know what to do!” a voice he _knew_ fretted from somewhere behind him.

            “The falls’ll help. The mountain twilight is thick but it doesn’t last forever.”

            _“I wish for nothing.”_

_“You wish for_ everything.”

            “It’s not the violets,” the familiar voice – a woman – said. “He hasn’t been right for days.”

            “It’s _always_ the violets. They always get exactly what they want.”

            “I don’t understand.”

            _“I don’t understand,” Jellal repeated after the woman’s voice he still couldn’t quite place._

_“You will,” the cold woman said. “Try to remember the first wish.”_

_“My first wish…” he whispered, thinking of candy floss and sweets and the feel of Cassia’s silk skirts between his fingers._

_“No, star prince.” Her voice was fading and he could feel the wetness kissing his skin once more. “Not_ your _wish._ The _wish.”_

_The woman took his hand in hers and pressed something into his palm._

* * *

 

            Jellal couldn’t breathe. He opened his mouth and could taste nothing but a sweetness that was too thick to be water. His body reacted in instinct and, though his muscles ached, he bolted upright.

            “Jellal!” Erza’s arms circled his throat and shoulders from behind. She held him steady as he tried to right himself. The rocks against his back were unnaturally warm but the water was cool.

            “What,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath. The grotto felt lopsided. “What’s happening?”

            A pair of hands much rougher than Erza’s grasped at his arms and pulled him from the water. With solid rock beneath him Jellal was finally able to get his bearings. The grotto no longer spun and the air no longer felt too thick to breathe. His eye caught on the tufts of twilight violets and his stomach turned. They’d lost their near sentient glow but he still felt wary of them.

            Jellal flattened his left hand on the slab of rock he sat on and tried to make sense of what seemed like a bottomless pit of milky, pearlescent water in front of him. His legs were still submerged and the water sloshed at his waist.

            “Jellal,” Erza whispered from behind him. When he turned, her eyes were wide and full of terror. “Are you alright?”

            “I think so. What happened?”

            “You –”

            “You got lost in the twilight.” The gruff man who’d pulled him from the water said.

            “No,” Jellal managed slowly. “No, I’ve been wandering around with a drained origin for weeks. A hallucination that strong _can’t_ happen without my own magic.”

            “Tell that to the violets,” the man grumbled. “Your lady here says you were fine until the pass. Is that true?”

            “I think so.”

            “It’s true,” Erza said firmly.

            The man nodded. “Then it’s the twilight. The violets feed off magic.”

            “I’m _telling_ you –”

            “Oh, how rude of me,” the man snapped. “I shouldn’t have tried to _you_ how these blasted plants _I’ve_ been tending my _whole life_ work. How _presumptuous_ of me!”

            “Please,” Erza whispered, her fingernails digging into Jellal’s shoulders in a warning. “Forgive him.”

            “I apologize,” Jellal muttered. “I’m not myself.”

            The man grunted and stood. He glanced around the grotto and approached one of the thick purple tufts of blooms.

            “These things are a curse.”

            “We have them in Crocus,” Jellal offered. “They’re used for –”

            “They’re the tools of women of the night.” He glanced up at the princess and flushed. “My apologizes, ma’am.”

            “It’s fine,” Erza said quickly.

            “The ones you’re used to aren’t anything like these,” he went on, crouching beside the tuft. He pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket and sighed as he put them on. “There’s grottos like this tucked away all over Stella. They say the gods carved them out themselves and poured the galaxy into them.” He pointed at the pool. “That’s why it’s not clear.”

            Jellal moved his hand across the surface of the pool. It still had a thicker consistency than any plain water ever should. “How are these violets different than the ones in Crocus?” he muttered softly.

            “Well,” the man said, plucking a few violets from the tuft. “These plants are native to Stella. A long time ago a benevolent queen gifted some of them to a Fiorian king – who misused them and they were eventually bred from bulbs that haven’t ever seen Stella soil. That alone makes them different.”

            “Less potent?”

            “Something like that.” He dropped a few of the blooms into a parchment paper sachet and folded the top closed. “According to my gran, this particular grotto is special. The old folks like to say these were planted by Orihime herself.”

            Jellal felt his blood run cold.

            “They say these violets were part of one special wish that touched her heart.” His tone took on a dramatic, but ultimately disbelieving, flair.

            “What was the wish?” Jellal whispered in a rush. The man’s laugh startled him.

            “You big on old stuff or something?” He dropped a fresh handful of blooms into another sachet. “I dunno. Probably something to do with love or some other nonsense. You know how all those stories go. Star-crossed love and magic and all that.”

            “Right,” Jellal said.

            The man stuffed the last of his sachets back into his pack and planted his hands on his hips. He looked Jellal over harshly and then glanced at Erza.

            “The violets up here are strange, I’ll admit that much. All signs point north, though. They love magic and you’ve got an empty origin. Maybe they felt jilted.” He laughed and slung his pack up and over his shoulder. “Look, you’re almost through the pass. I made it up here in half a day. There’s a village just through the pass and a short hike down.”

            “Thank you,” Erza said, easing her grip on Jellal’s shoulders. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come along.”

            “Don’t worry about it.” The man flushed and he shuffled his feet. “I didn’t mind lending a hand. You were in a state.” He cleared his throat and backed away from the pool. “When you make it to the village, my gran will see to it that you’re well cared for. I, uh,” he paused and his gaze rose to the vaulted rock ceiling. “I apologize in advance for her millions of questions. We don’t get many travelers who aren’t merchants or buyers.”

            The man nodded to them both and turned to leave. Jellal listened for the echoes of his boots to disappear before slumping backward against Erza.

            “Are you sure you’re alright?” she asked quietly, running her fingers through his damp hair.

            “I’ll survive thanks to you.” He turned his head and left a kiss on her knee. “I’m still not entirely sure what happened.”

            “I don’t think you were aware of any of it until you saw those violets. Then you were gone.”

            “I’m tired. Every part of me aches.”

            Erza’s fingers began to work gently into his sore muscles. “You were feverish all day. Body aches are part of that.”

            “I don’t think I can cover any more ground today.”

            “Of course not.” Jellal felt her lips brush against his cheek and she stood. “We’ll sleep here tonight and make for the village tomorrow. I’ll ready the shelter.”

            He turned to watch her fall into the familiar routine of laying out their bedrolls and shelter. Erza was steadfast in these tasks but he didn’t fail to miss her swiping at tears.

            The thought of leaving the pool occurred to him and he stared down into the swirling milky depths once more. His right fist was clenched tight and his fingers were reluctant to ease out of their grip. When his hand finally opened, Jellal’s heart leapt. In his palm was a perfectly preserved twilight violet.

            _“Not_ your _wish.”_ The cold woman’s words returned to him in a rush. “The _wish.”_


	6. Chapter 6

            “Are you ready?” Erza’s question broke through his concentration.

            Jellal blinked but found but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the twilight violet the cold woman had left in his palm the day before. A very large part of him wanted to toss the bloom and its somehow pristine, unbent petals into the milky pool water. But a smaller part of him felt wrong for even considering it. The childish and petulant version of himself left over from times long past folded his little arms over his chest and insisted that the cold woman had given him a _present._ Who was he to throw it away?

            “Jellal?” This time Erza’s voice came from directly in front of him. Jellal smiled up at her.

            “I’m ready.”

            “Do you want to talk about that flower?” she asked slowly. Erza didn’t point at the violet or even look directly at it. Instead, her eyes sought his.

            Jellal blinked again and opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t find any way to explain how he felt without frightening her.

            “It’s okay,” Erza whispered. She reached for his hand and closed his fingers around the violet’s petals. “You can keep your secret until you’re ready to tell me. I think –” She paused for a long, painful moment. As the seconds ticked by Jellal _almost_ blurted everything he’d seen in his brief vision just so she’d drag him all the way back to Crocus and have him committed for being _absolutely insane._ Finally she smiled. “I think this journey has been more traumatic for you than originally anticipated.”

            “Maybe.”

            Erza leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Once we’re free of this horrible pass, we’ll work on some of those artifacts Mystogan sent along. You need something to focus on besides the flora here.”

            “Okay.”

            She gazed at him and must’ve decided he wasn’t stark raving mad enough to turn back because she took his empty hand and pulled him to his feet. On impulse, Jellal pulled her against his chest. Her arms circled him and clutched at the back of his shirt.

            “Please don’t scare me like that again,” Erza breathed just loud enough for him to hear over the echo of the falls. “I thought you were dying or something worse.”

            “What’s worse than dying?” he asked with a pathetic attempt at humor. His smile fell away when she pulled back and looked up at him with a sorrowful expression. “I’m sorry, Erza,” he whispered. “I never meant to scare you.”

            “Let’s just get out of here.”

            Erza glanced around the grotto once more for any stray belongings before squeezing his hand tightly. Once they were safely back on the narrow path of the pass, Jellal realized exactly how detached his mind had been the previous day and many of the days before it. The strange magic of the native violets and how they’d managed to deceive him so thoroughly despite his empty origin still perplexed him, but he felt their claws ease out of his flesh with every step toward the mouth of the pass.

* * *

 

            The wind just beyond the opening that led back into the pass was brutal. It whipped at their bodies and wormed into every lazy buttonhole and forgotten flap of wool. Jellal, the wind having cleared his head of the remaining twilight cobwebs, closed his hand around Erza’s elbow and pulled her back into the shelter of the pass.

            “We need to secure everything on our persons before moving down the mountain.”

            She nodded and began peeling back her layers to refasten her clothing and cloak. The pass had been cold, yes, but the wind was mostly limited to brief gusts. Jellal wrapped his scarf around his neck and over his mouth before pulling up the hood of his cloak to protect his head. He then turned to assist Erza with the same. Her hair smelled of the milky pool water and he did his best to ignore it. Hopefully the village below would have a suitable bath. He wanted no loose threads of the twilight violet’s magic following them around – save the one bloom he’d stuffed away in the inner most pocket of his clothing.

            The path that squiggled its way back and forth across the long swaths of mountainside was thin but not as treacherous as the path they’d taken north from Arenaria. Jellal took the lead and he could feel Erza’s eyes on his back watching him for anything out of the ordinary. He hated that she no longer trusted him completely but was also grateful that _he_ was able to trust _her._

            Clouds hung in clusters around the body of the mountain and shrouded the landscape from their view for several hours. As the path slowly descended, Jellal finally had the first glimpse of his homeland in over two decades. Stella’s mountains were somehow both craggier _and_ more populated with plant life than anything he’d seen in Fiore. Perhaps if the winter hadn’t frozen everything over, the rocky valley would be a magnificent array of greens and browns. Something in his stomach tightened. He didn’t feel the relief he’d been expecting.

            _Soon,_ he told himself. _Altair will feel different. It is your true home._

* * *

 

            Jellal didn’t spot the village until they’d trekked well below the tree line. Even the trees felt foreign to him. Their trunks were tall and almost spindly, but opened up to a poof of foliage at the top. He wished he could remember any part of his abdication with Cassia but could not. With a frustrated clench of his jaw, Jellal set the faded memories aside for the time being.

            The village sat at the foot of a pointed crag and Jellal could see the path leading to it was just as roundabout as the trail down from the pass. He suspected the bulk of the promised half-day trip would be circumnavigating the trench between them and the plateau the village situated itself on. Nearly halfway up the slope of the plateau he could see the tiers of terrace plots and the intricate web of stone pathways between them. The nonsensical pattern of white, brown, and deep green plots that had been cleared for the winter flared out in step-like formations across the steep incline of the mountainside.

            Erza’s gloved hand slid into his once the path widened a bit and she took up a position beside him instead of behind. Together they curved around the trench and finally made it to the base of the plateau where the path split in two. One branch headed further down into the valley to lower – but still quite high compared to Fiore – elevations. The other stopped abruptly at one of the piled stone pathways. Jellal sighed tiredly.

            “It’s just one last leg for the day,” Erza whispered in his ear before leaving a kiss on his cheek. Her lips were cold but the feel of them was comforting. “Come on.”

            The piled stone paths hadn’t looked sturdy but Jellal found them steady. Hiking back upward sapped the last of his energy. He tried to appreciate the intricacies of the terrace farming but could not. His mind focused on bed and a bath. Perhaps he was still a spoiled, city boy assassin at heart – the hearty priest that tended his own garden for seven years had left him the moment he’d washed the road dirt away in Ultear’s bath.

            At the crest of the stone path a group of children waited for them with curious eyes and wide smiles.

            “Did you come from the pass?” One asked, taking Erza’s hand.

            “Did you come from the interior?” Another prodded as he circled them.

            “No, dummy!” A third child said, eyeing Erza and Jellal closely. “They’re from over the border. Just look at their clothes.”

            “From Fiore?” The first child said, tugging at Erza’s hand. “What’s it like there? Is it summer?”

            “No, it’s winter there, too.” Erza crouched in front of the little boy and smiled. “I think summer comes much earlier for us, though.”

            “You’ve got pretty hair,” the boy whispered, pushing Erza’s hood back.

            “Thank you.”

            “Hey, hey!” A familiar voice said from beyond their welcome committee. “Leave them alone! Don’t you kids have stuff to do?”

            “Aw, come on!” The third child, a girl, said with her hands on her hips. “We never get to see the good stuff!”

            “Go on,” the man who’d pulled Jellal from the milky pool in the grotto grunted. “Get back to the herd before they all wander off a cliff.”

            The children eventually cleared out but grumbled amongst themselves before disappearing around an outcropping of rock.

            “Sorry about that,” the man said, straightening his wool cap. “I’m glad you made it! I thought maybe you’d both fallen into the pool and drowned!”

            Erza graced him with a soft laugh but Jellal only pursed his lips. “Not quite. We appreciate your offer of hospitality.”

            “It’s not a problem. We’re quite used to travelers even though they’re few and far between now. My gran says there was a peak some years back but things are mostly quiet for now.”

            “Some years back?” Jellal pressed without thought.

            “Yeah, you know, back when Altair was raided and the monarchy wiped out.” The man’s smile widened. “I’m Arturo, by the way.”

            “I’m Erza.” Jellal felt her slide her arm through his as a cue.

            “Fernandes is fine,” he said quickly. Erza squeezed his arm but he offered no more information. His first name was unique – _that_ much he remembered. Tossing it around wouldn’t be wise until he was sure of how that might impact his stay in Stella.

            “Well, welcome to Pictor!” Arturo spun around and motioned for them to follow. “Come this way and we’ll get you a place to rest. The sun wastes no time up here in the mountains. We’ll lose the light before the evening meal.”

            The village was a grouping of stone buildings that grew denser as they walked. Arturo explained that the reason for so many terraces of all types was the uneven elevation. As he went on about his gran’s politics on gardening, Erza leaned into Jellal.

            “Why didn’t you give your first name?” she whispered.

            “Because there is no one else with that name in all of Stella. I’ll explain it later but until I’m certain my uncle doesn’t have loose end assassins running around I would rather not endanger your life, Princess.”

            “You don’t have to –”

            “Her Majesty would have me drawn and quartered if harm were to come to you on my watch. Let me do what I need to do to protect you, Erza.” Her frustrated sigh brought a smile to his lips – his first _real_ smile in days.

            “You _will_ explain this to me when we are alone next,” she hissed.

* * *

 

            Arturo’s grandmother was a tiny woman but not at all frail. She gripped Jellal’s hand with a surprising strength and he tried not to wilt like a tulip under her gaze. Throughout the evening meal, and the back and forth chatter between Arturo and his younger siblings, she watched Jellal. There was no malice about her but her eyes were both stern and curious.

            Erza was eventually shown to a women’s bath and, after thanking Arturo once more for the hospitality, Jellal left the men’s bath behind for the space that had been prepared for them. His robe was warm but he felt the chill of the old woman’s gaze. She waited for him just outside the door of the stone building where he and Erza would sleep. Smoke curled from her pipe and she said nothing as he approached.

            “Would you care to come inside?” he asked quietly. “I’m not the boy I used to be and know even the night air can have ears.”

            The old woman held out her hand and Jellal helped to pull her to her feet. She followed him into the guest quarters and immediately began to poke at the fire in the hearth.

            “It’s not right,” she muttered just loud enough for him to hear.

            “I’m not here to rock anyone’s boat,” Jellal said softly, prying the iron poker from her hand. “Let me do that, please.” She sighed and moved away from the fire to a cushion opposite him on the floor.

            “It is your right to roam the country as you please, Your Highness. I wasn’t speaking of that, though.” Her expression turned wistful. “I meant that it isn’t right that we can only house you so meagerly.”

            “I have slept in worse.”

            “The people mourned your death, and then they mourned your loss. We have thought you lost for ever so long.” When he sat beside her, she reached over to touch the runes on his face. “These are very old.”

            “Am I truly ancient now?” Jellal asked with a quiet laugh.

            “No, you impertinent boy.” Her tone was nothing but endearing. “I meant the runes. Someone has kept you safe with great care.”

            “I owe my life to the kindness of women.”

            “The one you’ve brought with you is quite curious. Who is she?”

            “No one of consequence.”

            “You lie like a proper royal.”

            “Only to protect what is worth protecting.”

            The old woman’s face turned sad. “Why have you returned? The monarchy is beyond repair. Our senate and counsel is sturdy enough but they argue over small things as men are wont to do.”

            “I promise I’m not here as a conqueror or anything sinister. I only wanted to see the stars before…” Jellal laughed softly and his eyes fell to his hands. “Well, before I made some choices that changed my identity once more.”

            “My grandson spoke of a man with an empty origin who got lost in the twilight.”

            “It’s true,” Jellal said with a sigh. “I can’t puzzle that part out. Twilight violets feed on a mage’s origin. Simple hallucinations can fool just about anyone but –” Jellal felt the creeping chill of the cold woman’s touch. “I had no magic for the violets to feed from to create what I saw.”

            “How is it that you came to lose your magic? Ancient magic such as your family’s is not easily lost. A benediction –”

            “I didn’t lose it,” Jellal interrupted. “I traded it.”

            “What could be worth a price as high as that?”

            “The lives of the people I love. And an end to the life of someone who cause me a great deal of pain and suffering.”

            She nodded and puffed on her pipe. The smoke had a sweet scent he didn’t expect. “When playing games of life and death, the price is always steep. It takes one of quite a skill to empty a man’s origin of benediction magic.”

            “As I said before, my life is owed to women that are somehow always cleverer than myself. One day I might shock the world and outsmart them all.”

            The old woman cackled and coughed. “You can try, but most men fail.” She fell silent again for a long moment and watched the fire. “I’ll leave you to your sleep but I think you ought to know that news from Fiore doesn’t travel over the mountains with any degree of speed.”

            “I see.”

            “I believe you will understand me when I say that certain pockets of the population might not know what your presence here means or what it might portend.” She stood and hid her pipe away into the folds of her cloak. “Be careful, Your Highness.”

            “Please don’t trouble yourself to call me that,” Jellal whispered. “I’m not a prince of anything.”

            “Perhaps not, but allow an old woman her niceties.” She left him alone in the room and he watched the fire flicker in the hearth. The way she’d called his magic a benediction stuck with him more than anything else. He thought maybe he should’ve asked for clarification.

            “Did you get lost in another twilight?” Erza whispered into his hear. Jellal startled and blinked at her. He hadn’t heard her come in. “Did I frighten you?”

            “Not at all. I was just thinking.”

            “Anything important?”

            “Maybe.” Jellal stood and pressed his lips to the curve of Erza’s neck. He was happy to find that she no longer smelled at all like the milky pool in the grotto. “Maybe not.”

            “Are you very tired? I was hoping you’d saved some energy to have a look at the things Mystogan sent.”

            “Should I worry that you’ve become fond of him? Will you leave me for my doppelgänger?” He smiled but Erza did not. She pursed her lips and shook her head.

            “Your jokes will not distract me, Jellal. You _need_ to work on your mastery of these objects and outside magic.”

            Jellal sighed and watched as she produced a few of the smaller objects from her requip space – including both the child’s projection toy and the one that had him floating in the air for a brief moment.

            “I’m afraid for you,” she whispered quickly. “And not just because you got lost in the twilight violets. This land is unknown to both of us. There’s dangers here I didn’t conceive of and what if I can’t protect you?”

            “Erza, it is _me_ who protects _you.”_

            “No, Jellal. You cannot even protect yourself from a tuft of flora. You have no magic and no weapons. We are no longer in Fiore where any bandit with half an eye for my hair can ransom the crown.” Erza set aside her collection of magical artifacts and took his face in her hands. Her thumb brushed against the runes on his cheek and her expression broke his heart. “Here, it is _you_ who is possibly in danger. _I_ will do the protecting.”

            She kissed him and for a brief moment he thought he felt a wish stir in his heart.


End file.
